


bring me to tears

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Catharsis, Come Eating, Healing Sex, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Not A Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Rimming, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28741524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: For years, Mike has thought of nothing but finding his friends. Of beating the monster that’s plagued them in different ways their entire lives. But with Bill’s hands on him, Bill’s lips trailing down his chest, over his abs, teasing at the hair dusted over his nipples, he can’t think of anything but shuddering, bottomless desperation andwant.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24
Collections: Clowntown Kink Meme 2021





	bring me to tears

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [clowntown2021](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/clowntown2021) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> After defeating Pennywise the second time, Bill and Mike have cathartic sex in the shower, featuring Bill eating Mike's ass until he cries.
> 
> Warnings: Eddie and Stan were not resurrected for this ass eating, but they're only mentioned through thinly veiled references.

None of them say a word until they’re back at the Inn. 

They all crawl, elated and devastated, two fewer than there should be, out of the Quarry and into town, watching carefully the reflections of themselves in the shop windows. No one sees them. No one pops out of shop doors to comment on the muck or the dirt or the blood or the water that drench each of them. No one pays them any mind. 

The longer the walk, the more Mike thinks maybe it’s their own moment of silence; their own drawn-out tribute borne of bone-deep exhaustion.

In the absence of everyone but his friends, he’s never felt less alone in his life. 

Mike wipes the sweat from his brow as he finally pushes the Inn doors open, the rest of them trailing behind him. He doesn’t have a room, but he traipses up the stairs nevertheless, hoping one of them will take pity on him. Returning to his attic does not appeal. Leaving his friends doesn’t, either. Leaving Bill already feels like a missing limb, and none of them have talked about returning. What _returning_ might even mean.

They haven’t talked. 

As they reach the top, Mike turns to see the rest have followed him. They break off to their separate rooms—Richie to his own, Bev and Ben sneaking in the door together—but not before wrapping each other in grateful hugs. Mike accepts them gladly, one at a time, trying to soak it in while he can. 

Bill doesn’t hug Mike. He turns to wander toward his own room, then tilts his head to make sure Mike is following. Mike wasn’t, but— 

Now he is. 

The warm, fevered press of Bill’s forehead and fingers are strong and familiar in Mike’s mind. Down low where they beat It, under the ground where they fought and bled and held each other close while they lost and gained everything all at the same time. Together. Like they’ve always been. Mike never wanted to stop touching them, then. In that moment, together. He didn’t want to stop touching Bill, who’s holding a hand out to him, now. 

Mike opens his mouth to object, but Bill’s face doesn’t budge. It’s open, tired. Asking, expecting. 

Neither of them speak a word. 

Mike takes Bill’s hand. His skin is soft, and he pulls Mike into his bland room. A queen bed, an armchair, a window, some vague and colorless art on the wall. It’s oddly foreign, the look of it. There was never any reason for Mike to stay in the Inn; he’s lived in Derry his whole life. Since he’s been an adult, no one has visited him. No one has pulled him gently into their room after a night out, a night visiting in Derry, a night that absolutely no one would want. At least, no one ever wanted it with him. 

Taking in the room, he catches eye of the door to the bathroom and internally folds in on himself. He needs a shower. He needs to brush his teeth. He needs to wash this whole experience off of him and revel in the company of people a little bit longer. But when he turns, Bill is watching him, leaned back against the closed door, his eyes heavy-lidded and interested. Mike feels frozen. 

Bill lifts his hands, wiggling his fingers; he lifts his eyebrows in question. The fog in Mike’s mind starts to peel away, until he’s able to take a step closer, until he can feel the warmth of Bill’s whole body as they linger, almost chest to chest. Bill’s so much smaller, and yet so comforting. Just being here. Close to him. 

When Bill speaks, it’s soft. It’s pointed looks at Mike’s shirt and where it pulls down against his chest. “Can I?” 

His fingers shake again, and Mike finally clocks what the hell that means. 

“Yeah,” Mike chokes out. “Yeah, please.” 

When Bill’s fingers curl into the crusty lapels of Mike’s shirt, Mike almost jumps. He needs to take a shower. He needs to brush his teeth. He didn’t anticipate feeling like the whole of Derry’s sewer system had been logged into his jeans and his undershirt and the top layer of his epidermis. A loud thrumming starts in his ears when he realizes Bill doesn’t notice, or maybe doesn’t care, how fuzzy his teeth and his hands and behind his ears are, because Bill’s mouth is on his, and Mike barely has the wherewithal to return the kiss for a full ten seconds. 

Bill grunts his dissatisfaction right into Mike’s mouth, and somehow, that helps him get with the program. 

“Oh,” he hums back, rasping wet and eager now, back into Bill’s mouth, against Bill’s tongue, and Bill huffs a laugh and Mike’s heart almost pounds clean out of his chest. 

The firm touch of him, of Bill, of Bill’s hands skating up his arms, pressing up on his toes so they’re close to eye to eye, it doesn’t feel like it’s shifting the axis of the world. It feels soft with intent, not like he’s asking anymore, so much, just like he’s there. Bill is finally there, after all these years. Kissing him. Mike matches it and tries to explain that without words. Tries to thank Bill for being there, for touching him like this, for kissing him. Warmth blooms through Mike’s chest like a plant that’s been watered after years and years. Something dry and shriveled up finally growing deep and strong within him. 

“God,” Bill huffs when they break apart, the first indication that this is affecting him at all. Mike sighs, unbidden, relieved. Embarrassment has been flowing through him, among many other things, but Bill’s face is stained pink like he might feel the same way. 

“I’m disgusting,” Mike finally says, his mouth moving separately from the rest of him, but clearly connected to some logic. “Shower?” 

Bill’s eyebrows do that thing again. Up, shaky. Down, shadowing his eyes. Mike thinks it probably means something. 

“Yeah,” Bill says, his tone giving no clue. “Yeah, let’s shower.” 

“Oh,” Mike says again, his heart in his throat, and Bill’s eyes bounce down to where his adam’s apple is bobbing nervously and lifts a finger to touch it.

Mike has to kiss him. 

It’s several minutes before they finally make it to the bathroom, Mike’s mouth swollen and bitten from Bill’s teeth and tongue, Bill’s hand wrapped around Mike’s arm, like he can’t let go. There’s no reason to complain when you get everything you’ve ever wanted, so Mike lets it stay. He has to get out of his clothes somehow, but if he has his way, he’ll shower with his shirt on just so he doesn’t have to ask Bill to move it. 

Bill moves it, but it’s to peel his own shirt off. The sight of Bill’s bare chest breaks something in Mike’s resolve, some filter of dizziness he’s been feeling. 

“You want this,” he says, meaning it to be a question, but failing to give it the proper inflection to make it obvious. “You really…”

“Mike,” Bill sighs, breathless, a whine high at the top of his throat, like his vocal chords are an inch away from giving out. Mike doesn’t know what it means, but it feels affirmative. When Bill strips Mike’s own shirt off, it feels like the completion of an answer. 

For years, Mike has thought of nothing but finding his friends. Of beating the monster that’s plagued them in different ways their entire lives. But with Bill’s hands on him, Bill’s lips trailing down his chest, over his abs, teasing at the hair dusted over his nipples, he can’t think of anything but shuddering, bottomless desperation and _want_. 

This sort of freedom has never been afforded to him. The few hookups he had felt forced; the few times people touched him, he crawled away in fear. In cowardly, shivering confusion at how a simple _feeling_ could fill him to the brim with the kind of vulnerability he felt he needed to save for someone who understood it. Bill’s touch scares him, too. It shakes at the very core of him, but in a way that makes Mike want to cleave his chest clean open and offer it up, fully and wholly. Fear has always been apart of his life. He didn’t know he could feel it on his own terms. 

Distracted by the gentle suck of Bill’s mouth over his nipple, bucking him closer to Bill’s now naked body, he misses the moment when Bill reaches over to turn the shower spray on. The water is loud in his ears, and Bill turns him with his hands on his sides, leading him forward into the warming shower. 

It becomes a little more normal then, and Mike takes the opportunity to ground himself. He suds up the bar of soap, conveniently unwrapped and laid in the wide, deep windowsill where the light is pouring into the room and over the porcelain of the tub. It’s big enough for the two of them, despite Mike’s size, both of them with wide stances and roaming hands. Mike soaps Bill up, and Bill returns the favor in time, the grime of the day leaving them in slow pulls. He tries to keep his eyes from meeting its natural curiosity in staring, in looking right where Bill is starting to get hard and thick between his legs, but he can’t. He wants to know what Bill looks like. What he feels like. Bill’s gaze is also lacking in reserve. Mike likes to catch him watching. 

Mike wonders if that’s what he’s been doing this whole time; if every time, over the past two days, when Mike turned to see Bill’s eyes trained on him, if this is what he was thinking about. Mike wants to touch himself just considering it. The thought warms him, springing sweat to his wet skin, only to be washed away by the spray. 

The water runs a sickly mix of red and brown. The swirl around the drain might feel like losing something, if Mike wasn’t wrapped up the soothing press of Bill’s fingers, inching around his waist as soon as they’re clean. 

“Can I?” He asks again, almost as softly as when they entered his room. This time Mike knows what he’s asking for, fingers nudging at the top of his ass. 

“Please,” Mike whispers, barely audible over the spray. “Touch me again.” 

Bill is significantly shorter, but it doesn’t impede how well he goes at it. He teases light at first, prodding Mike’s cheeks apart and massaging them in his palms, pressing deep kisses to the center of Mike’s chest. Their cocks press together too, trapped between them. Bill hisses when they touch, but makes no move to do anything about it, and his calm is intoxicating. There are no walls to cling to but the windowsill, but Mike manages to stay upright. Manages to not let the rising tide of his own arousal get to him. Bill’s hands are slow, patient, but insistent. 

He doesn’t say a word, but he opens Mike up with one finger, thrusting in and out while his thumb strokes the inside of Mike’s cheek. Mike gasps in his hold, breathing through the sting. He tries to relax, but something akin to panic starts to rise in his chest. He turns when Bill coaxes him, shuffling to the side until he’s facing the windowsill, planting his elbows down on a flat surface and bending over at the waist. 

That’s when Mike’s mouth really opens. The floodgates burst, as it were, and Mike is wholly unprepared for what comes pouring out.

“Bill, fuck,” he sighs into the crooks of his elbows, beading sweat and water from the shower. “Fuck, you feel so good. Just like— _ha_ , just like that, yeah…”

“Yeah,” Bill says back, and it’s as encouraging and filthy as the second finger he simultaneously adds. 

“Shit, yeah.” Mike rocks back toward it, his hips pumping crookedly, and it’s anything but graceful. A hand presses into his skin. 

“You look perfect like this, letting me fuck you.” 

It punches all the air from Mike’s chest. A grenade landing on the last little shred of his sanity. He lets go completely, his arms flopping to his sides, no longer able to keep himself upright. Bill catches him. Bill will always be there to catch him, to push him, to save him. 

“Fuck,” he sobs, wracked desperately from his throat, his heart, his stomach. His gut. He reaches down to grip around the base of his dick, leaking swiftly from the tip, just beading against the cool tile wall. It’s hot out, he knows it. The heat rises and sticks to the window from both sides; the August weather, the steam of the shower still spouting behind the both of them. Mike wants to slide down the wall as Bill touches him. Wants to turn around and kiss him, meeting again in a slick and slippery claim. But Bill’s hands keep the same speed and rhythm, in and out, digging deep and then pulling out before doing it all again. Rinse and repeat. 

“Mikey,” he hears distantly, but Bill plows on, “Mikey, do you want—” 

“No, no,” Mike insists, not sure what he’s asking but not wanting it to stop. He can feel the tears prickling at his eyes, feel the familiar stirring in his belly, all mingled where they shouldn’t be. He couldn’t face Bill seeing him like this. He just wants Bill to keep going. 

“Keep going,” he tells him, and Bill grunts, a punched out exhalation so sharp Mike can feel the wet breath of him on his leg. He stripes a hand up the shaft of his cock, then feels Bill’s hand nudge against it. 

“Let me,” he says, and Mike is helpless to stop him. “Let me touch you, please, let me—” 

“Anything,” Mike chokes out, and means it. 

“I want to taste you,” Bill says desperately, and Mike nods, head hanging down, almost tapping the base of the windowsill, his hands free and fidgety as Bill takes him completely apart. And that’s _before_ he spreads him apart with one hand and sinks his tongue deep into flesh. 

It’s the best thing he’s ever felt in his life. A croaked, strangled cry tears its way out of him. 

“Yeah,” Bill mumbles into him, the vibrations zinging straight up his spine. 

“Bill,” he gasps, pushing back into the feeling. “Yeah, please. Oh my god, please.” 

“I’ve got you.” He swipes his tongue over skin, needles coursing over Mike’s arms, down his legs, across the small of his back, where he can feel himself pried apart. “I’ve got you, baby.”

And then the tears fall for real. Mike pulls his arms into his chest and sobs, lets it all flow with the water, down the drain to be forgotten, to be washed away and replaced with something new and whole. 

Bill’s tongue gentles inside of him, his mouth sucking filthy noises that echo through the bathroom, and Mike can’t even be bothered to stop the shaking of his whole body to keep himself steady. Bill wraps his hand more fully around Mike’s cock and pulls, stroking over him in tight, solid lines. The light streaks across Mike’s face; it blinks over his vision when he tries to open his eyes; it pools and shimmers through the welling and drooping tears, and Mike can’t— 

“Bill,” he sighs, needing Bill to hear him, to know he’s close. He’s been hurtling there ever since Bill kneeled down, maybe ever since he stood across Bill and looked down to see him naked and hard, curving up toward his stomach, watching him with kind eyes. 

Bill pulls back, gasps, “Gonna come?” and as if speaking it into existence, Mike’s barely able to get out a “Yeah, fuck, _yeah_ ,” before he’s coming all over the tub and Bill’s hand. 

“Yeah,” Bill repeats, and Mike wants to laugh, but instead his sobs crack across his chest like thunder. It hurts; the coming, the release, but also the tears, the absolute relief and pain and grief and erasure of _fear_ he feels, all under Bill’s hands and mouth and tongue. He lets himself cry, stooped over himself, still spread open where Bill is licking gently at him as he comes down. 

Eventually, Bill lets up and stands, his erection pressed enticingly into the side of Mike’s thigh. His hands stroke over Mike’s back, shoring up from the shivering, then he reaches to turn the water off. Mike almost protests, but then Bill is pulling him, and he goes easy. He always goes so easy. He has a feeling he’ll never stop being easy for Bill. 

They towel off slowly. Mike feels torn and raw, like he’s missing some layer of protection he always held tight against himself, but he doesn’t necessarily mind. Bill is careful with him. Bill makes sure he’s dry and cleaned up. Bill brings him into the bed, their hands tangled together, and it’s already become familiar: Bill’s hands on him. 

It’s easy for Bill to lay him back, spread him out on his back. It’s easy for Bill to swing a leg over Mike’s thighs and straddle him, pushing his softening cock into the tight clench of his ass and rocking down, pressing into the cradle of his hips. It’s a show Mike would gladly buy tickets to again and again: how Bill strokes himself tight and fast over the head, pressing a thumb to the frenulum under Mike’s fevered stare. Biting his lip, he thrusts, and Mike gasps, hands coming to hold tight and strong around Bill’s hips and egg him on. 

“Love seeing you,” Mike says, his breath hitching as Bill ups his speed, groaning enthusiastically. “Love feeling you against me.”

“Me too, Mike, god, oh _fuck_ —” and Bill shoots all over Mike’s stomach, up into his chest hair, all over his own hand, and Mike wants to lick it up. His eyes bounce over the mess, and Bill must sense it, or else he can read minds, lifting his sticky hand up to trail over Mike’s lips. Opening eagerly, Mike tongues between his fingers and moans, eyes rolling back, the taste bitter and heavenly. 

“Jesus,” Mike swears once Bill is off him, rolled over onto his back and panting. “We might need another shower now.”

Bill laughs quietly, his head thrown back on the pillow. He turns on his side. Mike does the same, needing to see him. 

“I’ve got time,” Bill says, reaching a hand out. 

Mike takes it, sure and strong. “Me too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this fulfilled the prompt well! :) Thank you for reading!


End file.
